


Whenever You Are, I'll Come to You

by ZephyrOfAllTrades



Series: Spooky Time Stories [12]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Human, Eventual Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Modern Setting, Somewhat, Time Travel, medieval setting, with passing appearances of other characters from the Arthurian legends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28107468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZephyrOfAllTrades/pseuds/ZephyrOfAllTrades
Summary: Perhaps it was the wine or his anxiety, but one thing was for sure, he wasn't drunk enough for what he experienced when he woke.Shivering, he wondered if he had been kidnapped and left to die in the cold but couldn't think why he hadn't woken up when they grabbed him or on the trip to the country. At least he knew he was still in Britain, the weather being what it was. He sighed, carding a hand through long red locks. He wondered how he'd get back home. He didn't even have a wallet with him. He hugged himself while pondering on which side of the road to follow. But before he could make a decisive step, he heard hoofbeats from his right.A lone horse was walking peacefully, its rider sat proud atop it in full… Crowley snorted. "Armour," he shook his head incredulously. "I'm about to be saved by a knight in shining armour."
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Spooky Time Stories [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983229
Comments: 14
Kudos: 46
Collections: Racket’s 13 Days of Halloween





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Day 12: Magic
> 
> This isn't very spooky, but it ate most of my time so I'm posting it.

It was no use. The costume was well and truly ruined. Crowley cursed himself for being the clumsy arse he was, tripping on the robe and tearing the fabric apart. He sighed, at least his nephew's costume was sitting neat and safe on the kitchen table. Warlock would never forgive him if his Black Knight cardboard armour had been trampled before he had a chance to show it off.

The kid almost threw an Armageddon-sized tantrum when he found out his parents had to leave to America and keep him from going to his school's Halloween event. Harriet called a red alert when she noticed, asking him to accompany the boy the next day and to take care of him while they went off for one of her husband's conferences.

He didn't say no, he was good with the kid. His only problem was the hastily prepared, and subsequently ruined, warlock costume, which he thought the boy might have appreciated. He supposed he could turn it into something else but considered it to be a problem for the morning. The event won't be until the afternoon. With his current mood, tackling the repairs would make things worse.

He grunted, snatched a bottle of wine and grumbled towards his bedroom. He drank half the bottle before deciding to change into pyjamas. He only wore the bottoms as his drunk fingers couldn't parse how buttons worked. He fell into bed wishing he could pluck out a costume from thin air before letting his eyes close.

Perhaps it was the wine or his anxiety, but one thing was for sure, he wasn't drunk enough for what he experienced when he woke.

He was still in his pyjama bottoms, but there was no bed, he had no shoes on, and there was no bloody sun. He was by the roadside, in the damp, with the fog barely parting enough to show him the other side of the dirt path.

Shivering, he wondered if he had been kidnapped and left to die in the cold but couldn't think why he hadn't woken up when they grabbed him or on the trip to the country. At least he knew he was still in Britain, the weather being what it was. He sighed, carding a hand through long red locks. He wondered how he'd get back home. He didn't even have a wallet with him. He hugged himself while pondering on which side of the road to follow. But before he could make a decisive step, he heard hoofbeats from his right.

A lone horse was walking peacefully, its rider sat proud atop it in full… Crowley snorted. "Armour," he shook his head incredulously. "I'm about to be saved by a knight in shining armour."

Knowing he had no other choice, he stepped onto the road and waved. "Hey! Hey!" he called, hopping on his bare feet as they were pricked with sticks, stones and the cold.

The knight pulled the horse to a stop before him and dismounted. The animal obediently stayed where it was as the knight clanked nearer. He took off his helmet, and found a head of slightly trampled but fluffy white-blonde curls, eyes of a piercing blue hue, a delicate upturned nose and smiling lips.

"Greetings,” the knight’s lips parted to say. “I, Sir Aziraphale of the Table Round, am here to answer your pleas," he bowed gracefully, despite the constricting metal. It was a magnificent costume, Crowley thought, very authentic and the man was very into character.

"Yeah, uh… I just wanted to ask where I can call the nearest cab? And if you've got a few extra pounds? I think I've been pranked and I've got nothing on me for the mo'," he explained, feeling irritable the more he talked. "You know what? Just point me to the local police station? I've got to report this and I don't even know how far away from London I am."

The knight looked at him curiously. "You relate such extraordinary tales. But I can gather you're in need of help. Perhaps a change of clothes should be our priority. It is rather damp." Sir Aziraphale unclipped his heavy looking cloak and draped it over Crowley's bony shoulders. It was thick and lined with fur and he couldn't help but sigh, he just noticed how numb his limbs were getting.

The knight went back to the horse and rummaged around a pack tied to the saddle. "Oh dear," he blushed. "It appears I've only lady's garments. I've forgotten I gave away my own set of clothing," he grinned sheepishly.

Crowley blinked. "You what?"

"Well, if you must know,” the other huffed, cheeks reddening. “I've just done with a quest. The princess I've saved had grown tired of her station. I knew from her face, she wasn't happy. I asked if she'd like to go off on her own. She asked if it was possible and of course I said yes. Apparently she had it in her head that she was supposed to come back and marry me. The other knights had made a habit of it, but I daresay I don't believe in women turning into spoils for the heroes. Well, I said, ‘Here, take my belongings and I'd escort you to the nearest town and let you make your own way from there.’ She was ever so pleased, though I couldn't help but wonder if I did the right thing and left her to fend for herself. She looked capable enough, though..." The knight babbled on.

"Hold on," Crowley couldn't understand what he was hearing so decided to cling to the only solution they had available. "I can work with those 'lady's garments. I mean, it's not my first time wearing a dress, better than pyjamas anyway." Although the cloak was doing a wonderful job of warming him up, he’d rather not walk around almost naked in uncharted country lanes.

The dress, a deep green, fit him perfectly, including the slippers than came with it. He was once again struck with how authentic the costumes were and reveled in the velveteen smoothness.

"I'm not familiar with this 'police station' of which you speak but I shall gladly take you to court.” Crowley smiled at the playacting. Despite the way the man was talking, he seemed genuinely helpful. “King Arthur will surely accommodate you until you contact your people," Sir Aziraphale told him as he adjusted the saddle and held out a hand to him.

Crowley looked at the offering, "Er…"

"I'm afraid this armour is too heavy for me to walk comfortably in and I would never allow you to trudge the whole way, but you may ride with me and we shall reach the king's court faster."

"Just so you know," he gulped, sending the large white steed an uneasy glance. "I’ve fallen off horses far too many times than a normal person should have."

The knight laughed - reassuring, not cruel. "I promise to hold you tight," he held the hand out closer.

"Right," Crowley breathed, letting his palm rest in the blonde's. It felt warm and strong. He hoped he wasn't blushing at such a simple gesture.

The knight moved him closer to the horse then placed his hands on his hips, lifting him easily to sit sidesaddle atop the animal. He then swung himself to sit behind him then took off at a steady canter. Crowley let himself relax, feeling powerful arms cage him on each side and a sturdy chest on his back. He was tempted to nap, but the scenery had him frowning.

Everything, from the houses and barns to the cobbled streets and the people milling around, looked all too convincingly medieval. _Maybe I’m in one of those immersive settlement project things?_ he thought, but he felt it wasn’t that. He was still trying to convince himself when they reached a magnificent castle, flags gracefully dancing from its turrets. They passed underneath the pointed tips of a menacing portcullis and stopped just before the main structure’s heavy wooden doors.

Sir Aziraphale dropped unto the cobbled courtyard, announcing his return. He helped Crowley slide down the horse's flank and handed the beast over to a welcoming stable hand.

"You've finally found a willing maiden, I see!" came a voice from the castle doors. It came from a grinning nobleman with a circlet of gold on his head. Another stood to his left, rolling his eyes. To the right was a man in dark blue robes, intelligent eyes scrutinizing the scene.

"Your Majesty," Sir Aziraphale bowed as they walked over. "It’s actually not what you think. My companion is -"

"Not from this place," the wizard intoned, cutting off Aziraphale's explanation.

"Yeah," Crowley finally found his voice. "I'm pretty sure I was kidnapped and left here to, I don't know, die or something. Pretty awful prank if you ask me.” The nobles ignored him and continued ribbing the knight.

“You’ve cost me a bounty, Aziraphale,” the one without a crown admonished. “Only the King, here, had any hope in you finally bringing back a bride. The other knights would be greatly displeased as well.”

Aziraphale gaped at them making the King laugh. “Worry not, Aziraphale! I’ll keep our Lancelot or the others from come between you and your love,” he threw an arm around the other man’s shoulder and pinned him to his side to keep him from the panic-stricken knight. “I shall gift you the earnings of our little gamble and you may have use of it for your wedding. We can have it tomorrow!” Arthur grinned. “If we start now, we’ll be able to prepare a feast for the whole village.”

“But, I-” Aziraphale tried to voice his concern, looking worriedly over at Crowley, who could only stare back at him, stunned by the sudden realization that he might, in fact, be in a different time altogether.

“Might I request to speak to Aziraphale and his betrothed, Sire?” the man in blue robes interjected. “I must give them a magician’s blessing, for they might not have time to see me in the coming days.”

“Do what you must but make haste of it,” Arthur called as he and Lancelot made off to, presumably, claim the king’s winnings. “We must have the wedding at once before the maiden changes her mind!”

“Merlin, please you must know how it’s not so,” Aziraphale pleaded as Merlin led them inside the castle. Crowley followed, eyes widening as they entered a great library.

“I’ve had visions,” Merlin, acknowledged when they were safely ensconced within its walls. “Therefore I must warn you from breaking the engagement,” he addressed them both.

“So I’m supposed to actually marry him?” Crowley gestured to the knight, surprised at his own calm despite stubbornly trying (and failing) to not stare at the floating books and a quill that seemed to be labeling the many shelves. There’s no denying the magic there, no expensive special effects equipment could replicate the scene in real life. “He’s handsome and all but I don’t even know him.”

“This all seems rather too fast, I agree,” the blonde sighed, absently catching a book, petting it until it limply fell open in his hands. A chair marched behind him and gave his calves a few quick taps to indicate its availability and the knight sank into it, armour rattling as he did. Another did the same to Crowley, who sat as well, more to relieve the weight from his shaking knees than anything else.

“I have always admired your beliefs,” the wizard smiled at Aziraphale. “But it shall be but a temporary arrangement. You see, my vision also showed me that to bring your new friend back to his where he had come, you shall need the enchanted amulet Galahad had thrown into the betting pool. Its magic would be strong enough to amplify my own to manipulate time and space. It may only be used once, draining its power completely. We may not simply borrow it, for if the other knights learn of its power, it would not be given up lightly.”

“I like the whole going back home thing but it seems a little unfair to him,” he gestured to the blonde, who gave him a kind smile in response, looking fully at ease. "His whole reputation might be in danger here." A trolley wheeled itself closer to them, invisible hands lifting a tea pot to serve them a drink. Aziraphale _wiggled_ in his seat.

“I don’t really mind,” he said without looking up from the display. “To be honest, I’m considering retirement. All this questing is getting a little taxing. I would rather stay in a library such as this but they keep sending me to wherever and started gambling either on my coming back alive or finally catching a lady to wed. It seemed that the stakes have gotten ridiculously high,” he hummed as a cup and saucer flew lazily his way. It settled into his hands but before he could take a sip, he froze, eyes darting to the red-head then to Merlin. He grinned, one that hinted of a bastard of an idea. “In fact, If I may, I could use this marriage as an excuse to leave the king’s service.”

Crowley wrinkled his nose. “But then I disappear and they’d think you’ve duped them and oh, I don’t know, come after you or something?” He didn’t honestly know why he wanted to save the knight from whatever trouble he would leave behind. _It’s payback for_ _his_ _kindness_ , he argued internally as he tried not to scald himself as he caught his own cup.

“We could make a whole scene of it,” the blonde stood then, pacing suddenly. “Oh, perhaps, along the lines of your ancestors staking a claim on your soul, a portal dragging you in, and I then vowing to look for you for the rest of my existence…?”

“You’ve read far too many romances, I see,” Merlin guffawed. “But the idea is appealing - mystical, gallant and romantic. The bards shall sing of it for years to come,” he added with a snicker.

“But I’m afraid you’ll have to keep wearing gowns, my dear,” the knight looked at Crowley shyly. “You see, they had expected a princess from the quest.”

“They’re clothes, they cover body parts. I don’t really get the need to label them. Hell, I’ve seen a guy dragged off to Buckingham Palace in just a bed sheet. So long as it’s warm, I’m good,” the red-head shrugged, internally lighting up at the prospect of trying on more sinfully pretty clothes.

“I shall start the research for the most unforgettable exit, yet,” Merlin hummed, a flicker of triumph lighting his dark eyes. “You go look adoringly at each other in front of the court while I work,” he dismissed them with a wink, then slinked off through the endless maze of books.

Reeling from the strangeness he stumbled into, Crowley let Aziraphale lead him to a bedchamber at the other side of the castle. “Please make yourself comfortable, my dear,” the blonde waved at the elegant furnishings and comfortable-looking bed. “You may take a nap if you’d like. I’ll have someone send for the princess’ clothes so you may change before we sup with the others. My room is just to your right, so feel free to knock if you need my assistance.”

Crowley nodded absently. When he heard the door close, he practically bolted to the mattress. “Right, I went to sleep before waking up here,” he reasoned with himself. This could just be a dream. Pretty high definition for a dream, yeah, but still a dream. Probably. Maybe.” He scrambled over to perch on the pillows. “If I sleep here, I might wake up back in my own bed. London. Reality. No weird stuff. Logic, right?” he muttered to the empty room. The sky outside was still muted in grays and a cold breeze kept sneaking its way to him. He furrowed into the blankets to escape the chill. For all his nerves, and helped by the bed’s warmth, he was soon snoring lightly.

A furtive knocking brought him to consciousness. _Harriet_ , his mind supplied. _Coming to drop Warlock off before their flight_.

“Just a sec,” Crowley mumbled groggily. His body felt too heavy on him. He trashed about on the bed before realizing why. He was wearing a dress. This then prompted his brain to supply other relevant information. He slept in a borrowed dress. In a bed that was not his. In a room in King Arthur’s castle. Where he was supposed to marry a knight the next day.

His mental breakdown had barely started when a maid entered, asking if he’d need help dressing. He declined the offer automatically, under the pretense of being uncomfortable in a strange new place. He sighed when the girl left, the interaction was short but enough to clear his head from turning on full panic mode.

Feeling lost again, he forced himself to get up and make himself presentable. There was a wash basin and water left out for him, and the princess’ things were laid out on the sofa by the fireplace. He chose the nearest he could grab - a bright red ensemble, the cut clinging to his slim frame and left his shoulders bare. The bust was padded enough to hide what he didn’t have in that area. He tied his hair in his usual half-bun then studied himself in the room’s large looking glass, appreciating his work. With the dress, paired with his flaming locks, he could easily pull off the blushing princess bride. Satisfied, he sauntered to the room next to his own, hoping Aziraphale didn’t leave him to navigate the hallways alone. The door was opened by a boy, with a mop of light brown hair, looking curiously up at him.

“Who is it, Adam?” the knight called out before stepping into view. The armour was gone, replaced by a tawny velvet tunic over tan leggings, brown boots and a white shirt. He looked softer in the late afternoon light, glowing with a radiance that rivaled Heaven’s angels. It was a contrast to his earlier, battle-weary attire and Crowley could only appreciate the plump rolls covering the strong muscles he knew were underneath. On any others, the unassuming outfit would seem horribly dull. But Aziraphale looked regal in it.

The boy, Adam, snorted, not even bothering hiding his smug little face, “Better close your mouth, miss, or the flies will swoop in.” Crowley sputtered, making the kid smirk.

“Adam,” Aziraphale chided gently. “Be polite to our guest.” The child obeyed immediately, ushering Crowley in, seating him by the fireplace and offering him tea before leaving, the mischievous twinkle not leaving his eyes.

“Forgive my page,” the knight told him. “He’s not been here a year and is still too occupied with games than training for knighthood. Nevertheless, he’s quite intelligent and loyal to those he cares the most.” There was a fondness in the blonde’s voice that whispered he would spoil the boy if he could get away with it. “But you do look splendid, my dear, forgive me for not saying so earlier.”

“Same goes for you,” he mumbled, suddenly feeling timid, but it earned him a smile in return.

“We have a while more to rest,” the blonde assured, steering him to a couch and the aforementioned tea. “And I suggest we do. The banquets here are rather tiring, not to mention the people,” he leaned in conspiratorially. “Aside from the wearying travel, quests are sometimes more preferable than the company here.”

“Can I ask,” Crowley started, suddenly feeling curious. “How many princesses you saved to get the other knights overly confident that they can afford to feed the whole town from the bets they have between them?”

“I’ve never truly counted,” Aziraphale hummed. “But we all parted amiably, although there was this one who saw me at her old town and had me locked fearing I was after her. It took a long while to convince them I merely came for their delicious cakes…” the blonde chattered on. Crowley listened intently as the knight regaled him with his previous quests. He, in turn, shared the feats of technology the future would offer mankind, not fighting his hands as they flapped erratically, vaguely resembling gestures. It was a habit he had trouble stopping. It distracted most, but Aziraphale wasn’t even bothered, interpreting each flick of his bony wrist. He responded with questions and appropriate reactions to tell he was paying attention. The red-head marveled at how the blonde could follow his narratives despite being centuries later.

More than once he caught the blonde watching him with awed eyes and a fond smile. Sometimes he tried to hide it, other times it stayed, not knowing it was there in the first place. Crowley’s heart would go off-kilter every time he was faced with the latter. It was too genuine, something too pure - an expression no one else had ever directed towards him, until Aziraphale came along. As if he actually enjoyed his company and not just faking interest in the hopes of getting into his pants. It was enough to make him forget his troubles for the time being. They basked, just like that, in each other’s comforting presence, leaning closer together with every tale told. When the blonde noticed the darkening sky, he reluctantly moved back.

“Shall we to the banquet hall?” he asked quietly then let out a heaving sigh. “I hear they’re to drink to our union. I’m sure after the day we’ve had and for what we’re to do tomorrow, alcohol would do us both some good.”

Disappointed though he was to end their chat, he nodded, wanting to get all the fanfare over with and get back to his flat. Not to mention a few rounds might shush the insistent little voice in his head telling him he was already where he belonged. "I couldn't agree more."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware of Angst.

Merry-makers streamed to welcome the couple as they entered. Aziraphale was dragged to the King’s table with Crowley strung along to receive their wedding gifts, or rather, the spoils from the assembly’s bet. They spent a good hour shooting commiserating glances at each other as the blonde’s fellow knights took turns to offer their blessings to the couple accompanied by comments on Aziraphale’s sudden change of heart in marrying and how he shall finally be able to sire a son to follow in his footsteps. Aziraphale would reply with polite smiles and thank yous, but once in a while he would roll his eyes at Crowley, making the red-head giggle in his seat.

When the amulet Merlin mentioned was handed over, Aziraphale had casually taken it in hand and draped it gently over Crowley’s head to wear. The guests cheered at the affectionate display but the red-head saw regret flash quickly across Aziraphale’s face before being replaced with a dimmed look of amusement.

“It suits you, my dear.” Crowley gulped and glanced down, unable to look at the tiniest prickle of hurt that wouldn’t leave the blonde’s eyes. Soon, the ceremony ceased and they watched as the rest of the treasures were gathered. The items filled three chests, one of which was more than enough to pay for the town’s feast in the morning.

As the party became more lively, more and more of the men began calling for Crowley’s attention. He kept his face turned down, wishing he had his glasses to hide his glares. He resolutely ignored them, talking quietly to Aziraphale as they ate. The blonde’s face on the other hand was slowly morphing into one of pure disgust.

“You know,” Crowley muttered, scooting his chair closer. “I’m not that delicate. Besides, this isn’t new to me, even without the dress. I’ve met worse in pubs. Arseholes the lot of them.”

Aziraphale’s mouth quirked a tiny bit at that. “That doesn’t mean you still have to experience it, my dear. I pity the women who had to go through this farce where their betrothed encourage such behavior from his fellow men.”

“The maidens you saved were lucky they met an angel like you,” he grinned, watching pink tint the man’s chubby cheeks.

“I think I’ll not make a proper angel,” he smiled shyly, and Crowley wondered how he hadn’t notice how delectable his lips looked. “I’m far too gluttonous. A sin many would gladly remind me.”

“If you spend so much time in woods and mountains, you’re allowed to eat as much as you want when you’re back,” Crowley pointedly told him, secretly admiring Aziraphale’s savouring every little bite. “I’m pretty sure there’s no good chunk of roast meat or a fine bottle of wine hidden under rocks.”

“Too true,” the blonde agreed, and took another slice of pie. “I once had to survive three days on wild berries alone. I was famished when I got back.” The red-head grinned, watching the other man eat his fill. He even took the liberty of feeding him grapes between plates.

“Would you like to call it a night?” Aziraphale asked, eyeing a gaggle of men nearing. Crowley opened his mouth to answer but one of the drunken cat-callers planted himself on the other side of their table.

“Don’t waste your time with Aziraphale, my lady,” his voice rang loud. “He’s not young enough to properly take care of you. And if your hair is anything to go by, you’ll be wanting more than one bed to slide into before the night en-”

He didn’t get to finish as a hand shot forward to grip the sleazy twit’s collar and dragged him over the table. Plates, goblets and their contents were swept along to pool beneath the drunk’s feet, which were a hovering a good few inches from the ground.

“Apologize,” Aziraphale growled. He was holding the man up with one hand, his forearm taking most of the weight as he used the other to battle the drunk’s jerking limbs. When finally, the foolish man tired of his ineffective flailing for the mere minute he was airborne, he began to sob, grasping the blonde’s fist with his hands, asking for mercy.

“Please! Please let me down! I’m sorry for calling you old-”

“To the lady, you bas- bad man,” he corrected. Crowley wouldn’t have bothered, busy was he ogling the pure strength the knight was exhibiting, but the blonde was adamant. Only when the drunk had whimpered out a decent apology was he released. ‘Released’ in the manner of Aziraphale tossing him back over the table, letting him skid across the stone floor to crumple in an undignified heap.

The assembly had fallen silent as the spectacle took place, watching in awe as Aziraphale took a cloth to wipe his hands fussily before sitting back down and turning to Crowley, asking his forgiveness for the display of violence.

Torn between laughing his arse off and swooning like the damsel he was pretending to be, he willed his legs to launch his body into the knight’s inviting lap, clinging to him with trembling fingers. The audience didn’t comment but out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Guinevere giggle and wink at him before returning to eat from the newly replaced plates.

Arthur barked out a laugh, slapping his leg. “Never forget my friends, this man had battled a dozen and one dragons!”

“Dragons?” Crowley whispered into his shoulder.

“I’ll tell you about them later,” the blonde breathed back, nuzzling his hair. “May we be excused, Sire?” the blonde asked the King a moment later.

“Yes, yes,” Arthur waved them off. “I’ll have more food and wine sent to you.”

Crowley wriggled to get off but Aziraphale’s hold tightened. He stilled, waiting for what would happen next. With the tiniest of smirks, the blonde hefted him up. An arm supported his back, another beneath his legs and marched them both out the banquet hall.

“Goodness, I never thought you’d be this light, dear boy,” he chuckled, bouncing him up and down like a child as they strolled through the corridors. Crowley yelped.

“If you’re going to be a bully about it, just drop me already,” he cried.

“Oh, It would be cruel of me to drop you,” the knight pouted but his eyes were glinting in the torchlight with mirth. “But if you insist…” Crowley threw his arms around the blonde’s shoulders a second before he felt his arms fall away.

“You monster,” he gasped out even after he felt the blonde return his arms beneath him a moment later. He was set down gently when their laughter bubbled out and they were both trying to get their breathing back to normal. They somehow managed to reach their rooms, stalling in front of Crowley’s doors.

“You must be tired after all that excitement,” the knight opened the door for him. Crowley glanced into the room, a fire was crackling softly in the room’s fireplace, illuminating the still messy bed. Would it be a wise choice to ask the knight to stay with him for the knight? He swallowed, want and nervousness battling within him.

“So…” he started, not clear how the sentence was going to end. Aziraphale gave him a soft smile - encouraging, patient. He felt his stomach drop at the sight, far too aware that whatever he says next would either make or break their current dynamic. He was debating on the pros and cons. His eyes flicked towards the blonde's. He exhaled slowly, knowing that if he would be rejected, he would not be judged cruelly. He decided to take the risk. 

“Do you --” he was interrupted as Adam and a three others came out from the end of the corridor, lugging along food and jugs of wine. They chattered amongst themselves and stopped just before the couple, Aziraphale hailing their approach with a bright grin.

“What have we here, Adam?” the knight asked.

“Sweet meats from the King! They look delicious don’t they?”

“How delightful! But I’m afraid we’ve already eaten far too much. It would be a shame to just throw them out,” he frowned mockingly and the children laughed.

“We know just where to take them,” Adam grinned. “We’ll leave the wine with you.” And with no further ado, he slipped into Crowley’s chambers and deposited the jugs, running out quickly to his friends, eager to devour their feast.

“I envy their energy,” Aziraphale hummed as they watched the rascals disappear.

“Oh, I’m sure you get as lively as them when you need to,” Crowley countered.

“I am accustomed to vigorous exercises,” the knight answered, then realizing his words, sputtered in his haste to explain. “What I mean is -- well I -- it’s not what --”

“Knightly duties?” Crowley offered, basking in the knight’s adorable stutters.

“Yes, right. That- that’s what I --”

“Which reminds me. You promised to tell me about the dragons…” Crowley gestured to the sitting area where the wine had been placed, delaying his eventual question, but somewhat steering them towards the same goal, nonetheless. It also gave him the treat of saving Aziraphale from his troubles and seeing his eyes crinkle as he smiled in gratitude. “It’s not that late is it?”

“I believe we have time yet for a tale or two,” Aziraphale answered, holding out an arm for him to take.

They spent the evening in conversations jumping from dragons, to unicorns, to the many mysteries of nature, to the stars, to the vast universes, then heading back to the very Beginning of time and exchanging philosophies on how the Earth had been created. They bickered and they laughed, long after the wine had been drunk. Sometime after the moon had passed its peak, Crowley shivered in his seat. The air was colder and the mists began to creep into the room.

“You’re not very good with the cold, are you dear boy?” the knight questioned after the red-head failed to hide his subsequent shudders.

“’M skin and bones,” he muttered in reply. "No decent insulation."

“Poor thing,” Aziraphale cooed, standing from his seat and helping him to do the same. “Come to bed, and we’ll see about warming you up.”

Crowley felt the cold leave him immediately, replaced by the sudden molten heat the blonde’s words incited. “W-warm me up… in bed?” he squeaked.

“Oh!” the knight cried. “Oh, t-the blankets! Warm you with-with the blankets.”

Silence enveloped them as they fidgeted in their places, the most awkward they’ve been the whole day with each other. Finally, Crowley cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t mind,” he whispered.

“Pardon?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” he said a little louder. “If you, you know, warm the bed. With me.” He could feel his face heat from the confession, closing his eyes from embarrassment.

They were coaxed open by a warm hand to his cheeks and a small sad voice in his ears. “What I’d give to be as brave as you,” Aziraphale breathed, leaning close towards him.

“You are,” he said, blood pounding in his veins in anticipation. The blonde, however did not close the distance. He pulled back, trailing fingers over Crowley’s jaw, down to his shoulders then off him entirely. He felt the sudden loss of contact keenly.

“I am afraid,” Aziraphale sighed, face devolving into sorrow. “If we let temptation win, we both shall hurt more when you eventually leave.”

“I can stay...” Crowley tried to reach for him.

“No,” the blonde stepped away, shaking his head resolutely. “You and I are not from the same world. No matter my yearning, you cannot stay here with me. You are filled with the kind of curiosity that should be fed by the wonders of your time’s inventions. You must live your life surrounded by the vibrancy you yourself emit. This-this world, my world, will dim that. If I must endure heartbreak, then so be it. I shall not ruin you, nor your chance at happiness where you clearly belong.”

“Happiness?” he barked, reeling from the rejection. “You think you can decide that for me? How can you say I’m not heartbroken now?”

“My dear…”

“Get out,” Crowley gasped feeling the tears pooling at the corner of his eyes. Aziraphale didn’t protest. With one last longing look, the knight left. He cursed himself, Aziraphale, the powers that be, and all in between. He knew the angel was right. Would he have the strength to leave if they've gone all the way? Would he be content to stay in the damp and dreary England of old? He raged, he wept. Tomorrow he had to face Aziraphale. Face him and pretend their conversation didn't happen, and marry him. Marry him then disappear.

He wondered about the life he had been plucked from. Had it really been just that morning when the knight found him? It felt like ages. He tutted at himself at how fast and hard he had fallen for the angelic man. He only hoped he would fall out of his emotions as quickly, but doubted it. The cold reclaimed him then as he stared vacantly at the closed door. But this time it was a welcomed balm, numbing him until finally, he crawled into bed and yielded to the clutches of a restless slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One last chapter to go - eventual happy ending here we come!
> 
> (The art is mine, please don't repost without permission. Thank you! :))


	3. Chapter 3

Bright cheery sunlight lanced through the windows and shot right into Crowley’s eyes. He swore, burrowing further into the blankets. He turned one way then the other but failed to get back to sleep. He had a sinking feeling in his gut which had little to do with the coming ceremonial rites for a marriage that'll only last seconds. He was more concerned on his having to go back home.

“Dun’t feel like home, now,” he mumbled, shaking the blankets off him. “Best just get over it.”

The red-head slowly rolled out of bed and began shuffling through the princess’ trunk to look for something to wear. A flash of white caught his eye and he pulled it out. The dress looked more like a toga with gold trim, bare at the arms. He bit his lower lip. He'll be gone soon enough, what's a little more scandal to add spice to those people's lives? He dove back into the trunk and found a cape to match the dress which he would drape artfully over his lanky shoulders. He cleaned himself up and dressed, tucking the amulet beneath the cape but above the dress, it’s face peeking through.

The Queen knocked at his door just as he was about to leave, taking his arm and leading him to where the assembly were. She took him to the castle gardens where most of the party from the night before waited. A child ran to place a crown of white roses atop his head and tugged him towards the flower laden aisle that led to the platform where Aziraphale waited.

The musicians began playing, urging her to walk. He breathed in the crisp morning air looking straight ahead. At the very end was his knight, turned towards him with a beatific smile. He willed his legs to keep from running forward. As he neared, he noticed Merlin’s presence beside the blonde which brought him back to the matter at hand - he was leaving. For good. To never see Aziraphale again.

He pushed all thoughts of separation aside and barely acknowledged Merlin as he reached to take Aziraphale’s warm hands in his. The knight’s grip was strong, keeping him near. He looked up and found his eyes were red-rimmed. He wasn’t unaffected, after all. He returned his grip, hoping to brand the feeling into his palms. He didn’t bother following the readings, desperately committing to memory Aziraphale’s face, hands trembling as the minutes ticked forward. The knight was doing the same, eyes clouded by unshed tears. Ever caring, he brought his knuckles up for a kiss to calm him.

Then came the vows. He was woefully unprepared, mind racing to think of one. But as he met Aziraphale’s encouraging smile, he knew there were only three words he needed to say.

“I love you,” he croaked out. “There’s never a greater truth than that. And if you’ll let me, I’ll keep that love through any distance, any _time_ that may lay between us.”

“My dear,” Aziraphale rasped. “I feel the same.” He pulled him closer, enough to whisper, “You are my other half, the only being I could feel this way for. And I promise, we will be together again.”

As the last words fell from his lips, the amulet at Crowley’s breast exploded in green light. Tendrils of emerald smoke billowed around him and he flung his arms around the knight.

“Not yet, not yet!” he cried, eyes searching for Merlin, wanting to tell him to stop. A few more hours, just even one more hour or a minute, to say a proper goodbye.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale’s voice called him from his panicked state. He found his cheeks cradled by calloused palms. The knight pulled him into a searing kiss borne of fervent need, offering a fountain of hope for the future, and aching of overwhelming love.

He kissed back, tears running down his face in abandon. He kept his eyes open, willing every one of his senses to drink in Aziraphale’s light. But then it all began to fade, green melding into his visions. The fingers that held unto the blonde’s hair grabbed at air. His cheeks chilled as the knight’s palms were lifted away. He screamed but couldn’t hear his own voice. The feeling of desolation left him and was instead replaced by dread. _Where was he? How long would he stay there in no-man’s land? Will he ever get out?_

There came a blinding flash and the disorienting sensation of the ground being yanked from under his feet. He felt the uncomfortable pull in his navel as he fell... fell... fell...

...right unto cold, hard concrete.

Crowley groaned. He couldn’t feel his legs, and hues of green were still dancing in front of his eyes.

“Anthony, are you alright?!” came a woman’s voice. His eyes flung wide open. There was Harriet rushing towards him, a sleepy Warlock just behind her, nibbling on a waffle. He took stock of his surroundings. He was back in his flat, wearing only his pajama bottoms - the same state he was in before waking up in Arthurian England.

“I’m fine,” he grumbled, pulling at the blankets wrapped ‘round his lower half. He felt wrung out. It had been a dream after all, but the emotional strain had felt too real.

“How’d you fall from a bed that big, Nanny?” Warlock snickered, bringing him back to the present.

“With the hep of wine,” answered his mother, tutting at the bottle by the foot of the bed. “Really, Anthony?”

“A little less talking and a little more help, yeah?” he retorted, finally freeing his restrained limbs.

“Thad’s waiting downstairs,” the woman pulled him to her feet. "So all the help I can give is the basket of breakfast things on your kitchen counter.”

“And coffee,” the boy added.

“Good. Coffee’s good,” he scrubbed at his sore eyes, letting his sister and nephew’s voices carry him back to normalcy.

“Oh, and don’t worry about your costume. The one I had made came last night. I think it’ll fit you. At least they’ll be better than the rags I saw on the table.”

“Don’t you have someplace to be?” he fired back. She laughed giving him and Warlock a goodbye kiss before taking off out the flat.

He pulled on a thick black robe, for decency's sake, before joining his nephew on the kitchen counter, bypassing the edibles and popping open the sleek silver thermos. Warlock wrinkled his nose at the smell but decided to stay silent. He did however push a box closer to the dazed red-head.

“Mom said she wanted to be the _pretty maiden,_ ” Warlock warned. “And you know I’ll fight anyone that says you can’t wear a dress, but I swear if you flirt with any of my teachers I’ll…”

Crowley didn’t hear the rest of the threat. He had opened the box and there sitting within was a familiar-looking red dress with an even more familiar-looking amulet.

“Warlock! Slow down!” Crowley called after his nephew. “You’ll give your costume a dent if you don’t.” This brought the kid to a stop.

“But I want to see if my friends are here,” he whined. “One of them promised they’ll make their uncle wear real armor!”

“What’s with you and knights these days? They’re not even that cool.” Crowley grumbled. He had almost fainted, seeing the amulet, cursing the universe and it’s tormenting ways and almost didn’t wear it. But Warlock’s excitement overruled his own self-loathing. He won't let his heart ache over a non-existent being ruin the child's day.

“I think pirates are better,” came a voice from behind them. Crowley stared. The boy was indeed wearing a pirate captain’s hat and coat but it was the curly brown hair and mischievous grin that caught him off guard. He was seeing things now. The amulet was a coincidence, this too, surely. The boy can't be -

“Adam!” Crowley looked up, hand coming to clutch at the amulet. For a dream, Aziraphale’s clear voice had wormed its way into his waking thoughts more times than he could count that day. Even now, calling the same way he did at the page boy who had looked remarkably like the one his nephew was talking to. But the voice was coming from someone else’s mouth. Or at least he thought there was a mouth hiding there. The man who called was in a full suit of armour, clanking towards them.

Crowley's heart skipped a beat. _First the amulet, then the boy, heh - what if... third time's the charm?,_ came a persistent voice in his head. He didn't want to get his hopes up.

“I say, my boy, you know I can barely keep up with you in my normal attire,” the newcomer panted.

“Oops,” the boy smiled apologetically. “Sorry, Uncle Azi.”

‘Azi’ took his helmet off, and Crowley’s didn't even dare breath at the first sight of those blonde-shite curls. It was his knight! And he sent out a quick apology to the universe and thanking it at the same time.

“I might forgive you if you introduce me to your friends,” the man smiled, straightening his posture and letting one hand rest on an empty scabbard tied to his waist.

“Oh, yeah! This is my uncle Azi. He owns a bookshop but is really strong. He used this armour to fight with other knights. It’s like wrestling but way better. He even has a sword and mace and --”

“It was just a hobby and I haven’t battled in years!” he sputtered out, hands raising to keep the boy from saying anymore.

“It still sounds pretty neat!” Warlock piped out, staring at him in wonder. “Did you get scars and all that?"

"A-a few," the blonde blushed, giving Crowley a shy glance.

"Wicked!" the boy beamed, looking up to grin at Crowley then remembered himself. "Oh and this is Nanny- erm, Uncle AJ," the boy corrected. "He's not good with sword fights but can make any plant grow. And he's got a car, and makes it go really, really fast. Makes me think we’re in action movies running away from--”

“I drive the proper speed limit!” Crowley found his voice, eager to make sure he didn’t sound like the irresponsible guardian by endangering a child. “And it’s a vintage car. Very expensive. I make sure to keep it in one piece. Not just anyone can have a car as classic as my Bentley.” Warlock just rolled his eyes at him.

“Hey, Adam! Warlock! The games are about to start!” A girl called from the school’s entryway. Both boys were already off before they finished their goodbyes and soon both men were left alone together, watching their respective charges wistfully.

“You’d think with me having to babysit Adam for the last couple of years, I would have already gotten used to how fast the boy could run,” the blonde shook his head with a sigh. Crowley echoed his sentiments with a snort, feeling giddy and light-headed.

“Yeah. I don’t want to sound like those people who wail about children growing too fast, but it’s the same with Warlock. It’s like every time they take a step, reflex kicks in and you’re already in position to catch them as if they were still two-year-olds let loose on a sugar rush.”

The other man laughed at that as they fell into step, leisurely following the crowds of other harried looking parents. A minute or so later the bookshop owner asked, “So… should I call you Nanny or?”

Crowley turned his head. He hadn’t noticed how close they’ve gotten and the other man’s presence, as bright as the knight from his dream, was getting him drunk but he forced himself from snaking his arm around his. “My name’s Crowley. Anthony J Crowley. But I like Crowley better. I’ve been helping my sister with her kid since he was born and would tease me about acting too much like a Nanny. The kid sort of gotten used to it.”

“Crowley,” the blonde uttered wonderingly. “Have -- have we met before?” he asked, brows knit together. Crowley’s heart almost stuttered to a halt. They couldn’t have had the same dream could they? And how could he even begin that conversation? Could, _Yes, I believe we’ve met in King Arthur’s court where you were a real knight and we married in the castle gardens before I was sent back into the present time, lips still aching from our parting kiss,_ sound anymore unhinged?

“Past life maybe?” teased. “Gotta say I’d have remembered seeing an angel like you earlier on, Azi.”

“Oh, please,” the blonde gave an eyeroll but _wiggled_ at the nickname, nonetheless. “And it’s actually Aziraphale. Aziraphale Fell.”

Crowley turned to fully face the man, eyes wide and eyebrows raised high. Could he be that lucky? They looked the same, sounded the same, bloody _wiggled_ the same way. He even thought they already knew each other! He realized he’d gone silent for far too long when Aziraphale started rambling.

“It is a mouthful, I know. My parents were proud of its uniqueness, I myself had to suffer the taunts when I was a child. Although, now as an adult, I suppose I embraced it in a way. Rather memorable a name like that, really. But you may call me Azi like Adam does, those were the only syllables he could pronounce when he was younger, couldn’t properly mou--”

“Aziraphale,” he finally breathed, taking pity on the blonde. “I like it.”

“Oh?” he looked back at him shyly.

“Suits you,” he grinned. “But I’d still like to call you angel, if you wouldn’t mind.” He took one small step closer and, holding his breath, curled a pinky against the other’s.

The blonde gasped, looking down at their hands, but didn’t snatch his away. Instead, his mouth widened into a grin, cheeks flushing. Crowley could feel his own smile in response.

“I can’t say I’m opposed,” he whispered, hand twitching trying to bring their palms together but ultimately hindered by the metal gloves. “Oh, bother. Probably should have worn a less cumbersome costume.” Crowley laughed at the adorable knight and was spared jumping into the man’s arms by a teacher calling their attention to the snack tables on the other end of the venue, promising adult friendly drinks (“But nothing strong even though we all need it, right?”).

“Tempt you to a cup or two, angel?” Crowley grinned. “I know Adam said you’re strong but I believe you’d fancy sitting down for a bit.”

“Oh, yes, that sounds like a delightful plan,” Aziraphale hummed.

Crowley watched as the blonde wandered off in search of benches before heading over to get their drinks. He didn’t notice the bearded man approach him until he was close enough to hear his chuckles. Crowley whipped round and found himself face to face with a wizard in dark blue robes.

“Merlin?” he asked. Would everyone from his dream reappear at some point that afternoon?

“You’ve found each other,” the magician told him. “Like I prophesized.”

“So it wasn’t a dream, then?” he asked, his head spinning.

“You can call it whatever you wish,” Merlin shrugged, smiling at him, edges already turning fuzzy along the edges. “Personally, I’d call it fate.” With a wink, he was gone. Crowley rubbed his eyes and was still staring at where Merlin had last stood when Aziraphale found him again.

“Forgive me,” he handed him a cup. “I came to look for you instead of finding seats. I’m afraid I had this sudden irrational feeling that you’d have vanished in thin air if I didn’t come to find you.”

Crowley took the drink, but kept his eyes on the blonde, his blue eyes clouded with uncertainty.

“I’m not leaving, angel,” he curled himself ever closer. “Never again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy reading! :D

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's December but I've been wrestling with this thing for weeks now because it was supposed to be a 2k something oneshot but is now 6k and counting. With art. So to make me less frantic, I'm posting this part for now. It's got an ending, it's the middle that I'm trying to tackle into concreteness.


End file.
